


Emmanuel For Now

by Drizzt_Do_Urden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Gen, Literature, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2020-01-14 21:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18484609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drizzt_Do_Urden/pseuds/Drizzt_Do_Urden
Summary: A Supernatural fanfic exploring the time period during episode 7x17 in which an amnesia-ridden Castiel develops a relationship with Daphne Allen and uses his angel powers to  become a faith healer. Reverend Pike, Daniela the 1D loving tween, the head of the Ladies' Quilting Club, and the partygoers are my OCs, but everything else belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW.I love episode 7x17, but there are some parts that are REALLY problematic. The handling of Daphne, mainly. Supposedly, Castiel was emotionally involved with her enough to marry her in a short amount of time, but after that episode she is practically forgotten by Cas and the others.Also, in the one scene in which she appears, she is tied to a chair and is basically a demon's hostage- she's TOTALLY putting on the damsel in distress.Not to mention, there is very little about her characterization that DOESN'T involve servicing Castiel.  Her being devout- used as a device to explain why she takes care of Castiel- and why she sets him up with clients. Her running for exercise- used as a device for her to find Castiel. Her apparent marriage to and love for Castiel- used as a device to explain why Cas stays with her, her with him- and why she sets him up with clients. In other words, the only reason she is there is to serve as a plot convenience to keep Castiel in the story.So I decided to write this fanfic to explore this time period in more depth, and to give Daphne the character development I feel she deserves.





	Emmanuel For Now

**Author's Note:**

> A Supernatural fanfic exploring the time period during episode 7x17 in which an amnesia-ridden Castiel develops a relationship with Daphne Allen and uses his angel powers to  become a faith healer. Reverend Pike, Daniela the 1D loving tween, the head of the Ladies' Quilting Club, and the partygoers are my OCs, but everything else belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW.    
> I love episode 7x17, but there are some parts that are REALLY problematic. The handling of Daphne, mainly. Supposedly, Castiel was emotionally involved with her enough to marry her in a short amount of time, but after that episode she is practically forgotten by Cas and the others.   Also, in the one scene in which she appears, she is tied to a chair and is basically a demon's hostage- she's TOTALLY putting on the damsel in distress.   Not to mention, there is very little about her characterization that DOESN'T involve servicing Castiel.  Her being devout- used as a device to explain why she takes care of Castiel- and why she sets him up with clients. Her running for exercise- used as a device for her to find Castiel. Her apparent marriage to and love for Castiel- used as a device to explain why Cas stays with her, her with him- and why she sets him up with clients. In other words, the only reason she is there is to serve as a plot convenience to keep Castiel in the story.    
>        So I decided to write this fanfic to explore this time period in more depth, and to give Daphne the character development I feel she deserves. 

I emerge from the river and into the sunlight. I look around, and find that I am in a forest of some sort.

            _How did I end up here?_ I ask myself. I search my brain for answers, forcing myself to try and recall something, _anything_ , that might lead to a clue as to why. It’s no use. My mind is empty, utterly devoid of any memory as to how I got here. 

            I look down and I find that I am…naked.  

            Why am I naked?  

            I find that I have no answer to that- same as with the first question. 

            I scratch my head, frowning.  This feels like that movie one of my friends mentioned to me at one point-  _The Hanging Over? The Hungover? That Which is Hanging or Hung Over? The Hangover?_

__ Yes. That’s it. _The Hangover_.  Only… that movie took place in a city, I think. Not in the woods. And there were four people in it, not one. And there was a wedding in it also. Or something about a wedding. And a prostitute also.  I don’t think whatever got me here involved any of that, but I can’t be sure.  

            I try to recall who the friend was that told me about _The Hangover_ , but with no luck there. I remember vaguely that he was male, but that’s about it. I remember absolutely nothing else about him; not his name, not his face, not what he did for a living, not even how we met. 

            Forget the “Hangover” guy, I decide. Right now I need some clothes. Where are my clothes? 

            I scan the river bank for my clothes. No such luck. I can’t find _any_ clothes- not even so much as a sock. 

            And that’s when I realize: I can’t remember what my clothes are supposed to look like. At all. 

            I can’t remember who my friends are. I wouldn’t recognize my clothes if I saw them. 

            This is not at all like _The Hangover_. I’m missing more than just one night of out my entire memory. I’m missing _a great deal_ of my memory. Possibly all of it. 

            Panicked, I run away from the river and into the shelter of some trees. 

            Okay, I think to myself.  I _have_ to remember who I am. My name is…

            My name is… 

            My name is…oh, I don’t know. Jimmy? Jimmy Novak? 

            No. It’s definitely _not_ Jimmy Novak. Although I vaguely recall knowing someone with that name _,_ I also have the distinct- _very distinct_ \- feeling that it isn’t mine. I don’t know _how_ I know this Jimmy Novak- because apparently I’m not allowed to know how I know anybody at all- but I know that he isn’t me. 

            Alright, forget the name for now. Where do I live? What do I do for a living? 

            I think about that for a while, but come up with no answers to either of them. 

            Seeing no point in standing in the woods all day, I walk back towards the river. Once there I begin strolling alongside it, asking myself various questions, in order to figure out who I am. 

            What’s my mother’s name?  No answer. What’s my father’s name?  No answer to that either- and not knowing that, for a reason I do not know, makes me feel as if my heart is being torn open within my chest. I fall to the ground, crying.

            Wait, I think to myself, after a while. Why does not knowing who my father is cause this…this agony within me, whereas not knowing who my mother was doesn’t? 

            I can’t answer that question either. 

            I continue walking and asking myself questions. 

            What are my siblings’ names? I ask myself. No answer to that, so I go with a more basic one. How many siblings do I have?  No answer to that either, so I backtrack even further. Do I even have siblings? I don’t know how to answer that either. 

            Eventually, after a long, fruitless period of walking alongside the river and asking myself questions and coming up with no answers, I run into someone- a woman. Or rather, the woman runs into me- as running is what she is currently doing. She appears to be in her 30s, with wavy, chestnut brown hair that goes down to her shoulders, and light blue eyes. She’s wearing a black tank top, jeans, hiking boots, and a silver cross necklace. 

            The woman stops short and gasps. I stare at her, confused, wondering why she should be so shocked. I am, after all, only a man.  And then I look down and realize again that I am naked. 

            Feeling quite embarrassed, and, immediately spotting a very convenient brown leaf on the ground, I quickly pick it up and hold it in front of my private parts. 

            “I…I am very sorry, ma’am,” I blurt out, flushed. “I…didn’t mean to shock you with such a…an… _unfortunate display_.” 

            “Oh my goodness,” the woman replies, clearly shocked.  “Oh my goodness.” 

            The woman then turns and runs off. 

            “Ma’am!” I cry, running after her.  “Ma’am! Please don’t! I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

            The woman turns towards me, catching her breath. 

            “Didn’t mean to what?” she asks politely. 

            “I…didn’t mean to shock or offend you,” I say, feeling deeply ashamed. “It’s just that…I woke up in the river this morning with no clothes on. I have no idea why; it’s just what happened.” 

            The woman then raises an eyebrow. 

            “And…” she replies, grimacing, “there was no clothing lying next to you when you woke up?” 

            I shake my head and tell her no. 

            “Were you drinking last night?” she asks. 

            I pause for a while and think about this. 

            “No,” I answer. “At least…I don’t think so. I only remember waking up in the river this morning. Why? Why do you ask?” 

            The woman half smiles. 

            “Well…it’s just that a couple of the neighbors had a party last night, and that party involved _a lot_ of liquor, and the results of that…well, the results of that were a bit crazy.” 

            “How crazy?” 

            She giggles. 

            “Well, let’s just say Reverend Pike will never live down the vulgar graffiti on the side of the church, and that the head of the Ladies’ Quilting Club has a bone to pick with those certain partygoers that spilled beer on her oh-so-precious quilts.” 

            At this we both end up laughing, laughing so hard that both our stomachs hurt and that I accidentally drop my leaf. 

            The woman notices and puts a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. 

            I look down and, realizing what happened, I quickly pick up my leaf again and put it in front of my private parts. 

            “At any rate, I thought you might be yet another leftover from that party,” she continues. “But you don’t smell at all like booze, and you aren’t acting too hungover, and you seem like a really nice guy, so I guess you must be telling the truth.” 

            “Oh,” I reply, feeling a bit awkward. “Well, I’m very sorry about what happened to Reverend Pike. And the Ladies’ Quilting Club woman.” 

            The woman chuckles. 

            “Don’t be,” she says to me, shaking her head and smiling. “The head of the Ladies’ Quilting Club is _not_ a nice woman. She had it coming.  She’s had it coming for a _long time_.” 

            Confused, I ask her, 

            “What about Reverend Pike?” 

            The woman stops smiling, and pauses for a minute. Eventually she responds with, 

            “Reverend Pike? Well, he _is_ a nice guy, and he definitely doesn’t deserve to have the side of his church spray-painted with profanities, but he does get a little high-and-mighty sometimes. He needs to stop taking himself so seriously.”

            The woman smiles again and extends her hand. 

            “I’m Daphne, by the way,” she says to me, “Daphne Allen.” 

            I take her hand and shake it. 

            “I’m…I’m…” 

            And then I realize that since I don’t know what my name is, I have no proper way to introduce myself. 

            Flushed, I turn away and say to her, 

            “Well, I don’t really know what my name is.” 

            Daphne lets go of my hand, and stares at me, puzzled. 

            “You don’t know what your _name_ is?” she cries. 

            I shake my head. 

            “Like I said,” I tell her, “I only remember waking up in the river this morning. Nothing else. ” 

            Daphne stares at me in shock for a couple of minutes, as if only appearing to understand the full meaning of my words just now. 

            “Wait, so you really don’t remember _anything_?” she asks. “Nothing that ever happened to you in your entire life _ever_? Besides waking up this morning?”  

            I nod. 

            “Well,” she replies, taking a deep breath in, “I guess it must be God’s will that I found you here. I mean, I haven’t done my morning run in these woods in a _long time_. Normally I do my morning run in the neighborhood, but they were fixing once of the potholes in the road today, and I prefer some relative peace and quiet when I run, you know?” 

            Daphne puts an arm around my shoulders and offers,

            “Hey, why don’t we come go back to my place and get you some clothes other than that old leaf?” 

            It sounds wonderful, so I tell her yes and allow her to lead me back to her home. 

            Later that evening, wearing an old light blue terry cloth bathrobe of hers and with coffee cup in hand and her sleek black laptop in my lap, Daphne and I prepare to choose a new name for me. 

            Daphne sits next to me on the black sofa in her living room, wearing another tank top, this one light pink, more tight-fitting than the one she wore today, and with lace on the collar, and shorts, these gray and very loose-fitting, and held in place by a draw-string.

            I take a sip of the coffee, and upon tasting it, swoon with pleasure. I swear, I have never tasted anything this good before. My brain may not remember anything that ever happened to me before this morning, but my mouth does- events of a culinary sort, that is. And it knows that nothing this good, coffee-wise at least, has never entered its mouth before. 

            “Do you like it?” Daphne asks. 

            I nod vigorously. 

            “Yes,” I moan softly. “Oh, _yes_ , I _do_.” 

            “It’s a special type of cappuccino that I learned to make while I worked at one of the local coffee shops in high school,” she informs me. “You take one-third expresso, top that with one third heated milk and one third milk foam, like for a normal cappuccino, but you add chocolate powder to the milk and cinnamon and bits of dark chocolate to the milk foam. It was very popular back in the day.” 

            “Mmmm,” I agree, continuing to drink the coffee. “It had to be.”

            “At any rate,” she says, leaning in to look at the laptop screen, “time to choose a name.” 

            The screen shows a site called bouncingbabynames.com, which has a literal bouncing, albeit faceless, baby as its logo. The alphabet is shown on the top of the page in one long string of crude block letters, all varying between three colors: red, blue, and yellow.  Below it is the sentence, _browse by alphabet_. Below that is the section _popular names_ , which is divided into names for girls and boys.  To the right of that section is _trending names_ , which is divided in the same manner. Below both those sections is the section _browse by origin_. This section allows me to search for names that are African, Arabic, Aztec, Basque, Biblical, Celtic, Chinese, Czech, Danish, Dutch, Finnish, French, German, Greek, Irish, Japanese, Latin, Persian, Scandinavian, Scottish, Slavic, Spanish, Swedish- the list goes on and on. 

            Daphne gulps, and looks about as daunted by our options as I feel. 

            “Let’s start with the letter _A_ ,” she suggests.  

            So we do- and are stupefied by the results. Even just searching for names starting with the letter _A_ and ignoring all the names meant for girls, we still have a long list ahead of  us to sift through. 

            “Oh, _Aali_! That’s a nice name!” Daphne declares excitedly. 

            I look at the name’s meaning, which is in the very last column, right next to the name’s origin, which is apparently Arabic, and shake my head. 

            “ Yeah, but I don’t feel anywhere near _enlightened_ as of right now,” I tell her. “Unless by _enlightened_ you mean _utterly confused_ or _has no idea who he is whatsoever_.”

            Daphne smiles sadly. 

            “Yeah, that’s probably not a good fit for you,” she concedes. 

            She scrolls down a bit. 

            “How about…Aapo?” she suggests. “Or…Aatami? Maybe…Abayomi?”

            I shake my head at all three of them. 

            “Alright,” she murmurs, scrolling down some more, “how about Abhainn? It says it means ‘river’, and you were found by the river...” 

            I shake my head again. 

            “Why don’t we… _forget_ about the exotic names for now,” I advise, feeling considerably less thrilled at the prospect of having a name now that I’d seen a number of varying Finnish, Biblical, Hindi, Scottish, Arabic, and African names roll across the screen. 

            Daphne nods. 

            “Good idea,” she replies, “I don’t want to end up giving you or for you to end up giving yourself some sort of name that neither of us knows how to pronounce just because it sounds interesting.”

            “Amen to that,” I concur. 

            Daphne gets up from the sofa, picks up both my empty coffee cup and hers, and goes into the kitchen. 

             I go back to the main page and click the section _popular names_.  It comes up with a list of  the one hundred most popular names for both boys _and_ girls.

            Daphne comes back, and sadly, with absolutely none of that delicious coffee. She sits back down, and I say, 

            “How about Liam?” 

            Daphne shakes her head. 

            “No,” she says, wrinkling her nose in disgust, “I don’t want you to be named after one of the members of an obnoxious British boy band.” 

            I furrow my brow in confusion. 

            “British…boy band?” 

            Daphne raises an eyebrow, appearing stupefied. 

            “You really haven’t heard of One Direction?” 

            I nod my head yes. 

            Daphne smiles sadly. 

            “Lucky you. I, for one, _have_ heard of them, because my next door neighbors’ tween daughter Daniela is _always_ blasting their horrible music from her room, and I still can’t get that annoying song ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ out of my head.”

            I don’t think I ever heard any of said horrible music today, but I decide to drop the subject. So I go down the list of the one hundred most popular boy’s names with her and try to pick a name. They all end up being vetoed, by at least one of us, for various reasons. 

            Daphne vetoes hers mainly because they’re the names of some celebrity she dislikes. For example, she vetoed the name Greyson, because it’s the name of some Youtube star she thinks is tacky.  She vetoed the name Logan, because she doesn’t like this actor named Logan Lerman.  Daphne also disapproved of the name, Jace, because it’s the name of a character in this book series called _The Mortal Instruments_ which she loathes utterly. 

            “ _Half the plot_ of the first three books is just the writer’s _sick_ attempt to make incest seem romantic,” Daphne complained. “And then in the third book it’s revealed that Jace and Clary _aren’t_ siblings after all, so then the whole incest plotline just becomes fake sinfulness-for-sensationalism. What’s even worse is that these books are for _teenage girls_.” 

            She also disliked the names Hunter and Gavin, because they belonged to the musicians Hunter Hayes and Gavin DeGraw, whose music she can’t stand. 

            I veto mine mainly because I think the names sound tacky in general. For example, Harrison, Jackson, Lincoln, Cooper, Declan- why would anyone want to name their child one of those names?

            Daphne frowns.  

            “Why on earth are these names popular?” she grumbles. 

            I shrug. 

            “I have no idea,” I tell her. 

            “Let’s try Biblical names,” she suggests. 

            So I go back to the _browse by origin_ section and click Biblical. 

            And then just about every name of every person that ever featured in the Bible appears on screen. Even those of the _wicked_ people. 

            “ _Cain_ is definitely out of the question,” Daphne announces. “And I honestly don’t know why someone would want to name their child after a fratricidal monster.” 

            “Alright,” I acknowledge. “What about Adam?” 

            And then a wave of nausea hits me, and immediately these five words surface in my head. 

            _Adam Milligan. Michael. The Cage._

__ The nausea passes, and I think: 

            Wait. Adam Milligan? Michael? Who are these people? Is either of them the guy who told me about _The Hangover_? And what on earth does a cage have to do with either of them?  

            “J-just forget about that suggestion,” I stammer quickly to Daphne. 

            So we veto Adam, and Saul, because the first Saul was disobedient to God, and because the second actively went around killing Christians, and Jacob, because he tricked first _his brother_ , then _his father_ , just so that he could have the most of the inheritance.   

            Joshua is approved of by Daphne, because it means “Yahweh is salvation”- and because she hopes that that will be true for me as well. She also approves of Joseph for much the same reason; because despite and throughout his suffering, he always made the right choices, and was rewarded for it by God.  The name Elijah is also added to the list alongside Joshua and Joseph, and then Ezra is added as well.  And then we notice a name between Ezra and Elijah that immediately wins both of our hearts. 

            _Emmanuel_.  

            “God is with us,” Daphne murmurs, stating the meaning of the name out loud. 

            She looks me straight in the eye and declares, 

            “Oh my goodness. This is the one!” 

            I nod feverishly, making absolutely no argument against it. Because there _is_ no argument against it.  Emmanuel is the one. There is no question about it. 

            “Yes,” I agree, trembling with excitement, “it is.” 

            Daphne closes the laptop, takes it off my lap, and puts it to one side of her. She then stands up and says softly, 

            “It’s time for bed.” 

            With that we both get up and head upstairs, each to our respective bedrooms. Before we enter them, though,  Daphne says one more thing to me: 

            “Good night, Emmanuel.” 

            “Good night, Daphne, I reply.” 

            And with that, we both go to bed. 

            I may not know how I ended up in that river, naked, or who my friends are, or who my family is. I may not know what I do for a living, or where I used to live, or even who I really am. I may even spend the rest of my life never knowing any of those things. 

            But I do know this: I have Daphne. My new friend.  

            And I have a name. A name which I can go by for the present, until circumstances say otherwise. 

            For now, I am Emmanuel.  And for me, that is enough. 

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